


sowing love into you is my job

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fuck Or Die, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Handwaving, Internalized Homophobia, Kansas, M/M, Mild Gore, Nebulous Timeline, Oral Sex, Rabbits, Sort Of, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 06:54:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18115574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: there's a handmade card, and a body with no limbs, and overall castiel is one very flustered angel.





	sowing love into you is my job

The counter of the gas station they stop at on the way back from the hunt is overcrowded with displays of kitschy Valentine’s day gifts: stuffed bears holding hearts that say  _I Love You_ , headbands with plastic hearts spended on pipe cleaners, colorful red and pink lollipops. Tucked between the lighters and the till are crude, handmade cards for $2 each. Castiel, without knowing why, plucks a pink one up while Dean pays for their snacks.

The front says  **YUOR’E MY ANGEL**  in black crayon. Underneath, in red, is a fat heart with an arrow going through it—a blatant misrepresentation of what Cherubim actually do, but clearly drawn with good intent, of which Castiel approves. Inside the card is a child’s rendition of a portly baby, white wings sprouting from his back and holding another red heart in one hand.  **I LOVE YOU!** is written just below him.

“My little girl made those,” the man at the till says. Castiel, startled and feeling as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t, looks up perhaps a little too quickly. Dean and the man are both staring at him, but Castiel doesn’t think it’s with irritation. Fondness, from the gas station employee, thinking of his daughter, and.. something similar in Dean’s expression, as well.

“They’re beautiful,” Castiel says, and the man smiles. “How old is she?”

“Beth’s just turned 10 last November.” Dean forgotten, he pulls out his wallet and shows Castiel what must be a school photo of a young girl with pigtails and buck teeth. “They’re kid drawings, sure, and her spelling could use a little work, but they got real potential. I keep telling her she’s gonna be a famous artist, but she don’t believe me yet.” Castiel, finding himself attached to both the card and the story, now, slides it across the counter.

The attendant beams. “You buying?” Castiel nods. “Aw, sweet. She’s gonna be so damn happy- saving up for a new bike. I keep telling her she won’t be able to ride it what with all the snow, but she don’t care. Just wants a bike,” he laughs, and suddenly Castiel feels on the verge of tears.

This has happened often lately, and Castiel wonders if it’s a side effect of all the trauma his Grace has gone through in the past decade. It feels confused, sometimes, like it isn’t sure whether to react how an angel would or how a human would, or somewhere in between. Now must be one of those times where it’s the latter, but Castiel thinks bursting into tears in front of a stranger might be one of those things Dean says is awkward, so he attempts to rein himself in.

“I hope she gets her bicycle,” Castiel says after handing over the two dollars, then grabs the card and hugs it close to his chest. “Goodbye.” He turns and heads for the exit, biting the inside of his cheek like he’s seen Dean do when he tries not to cry.

If Sam notices Castiel’s red eyes he doesn’t mention it, and a few moments later when Dean joins them he dumps all the snacks in Castiel’s lap and says ‘he wanted to tell me thank you, from him  _and_ Beth,’ not even a little mockingly.

*

Castiel brings the card with him on the next few hunts, tucked into the inside pocket of his trenchcoat and protected by Grace. The fourteenth of February isn’t for another couple of days yet, though Castiel isn’t sure why this year’s Valentine’s Day feels as if it holds more meaning than those past. The reality of a Dean and Sam that are safe in the bunker and not currently fighting off one or more bearers of Apocalypse is a weight lifted, and Castiel feels the significance of this unusual peace in his bones.

Despite all his years now spent on Earth, Castiel is confounded still with certain aspects of the human lifestyle. The appropriate way to broach certain topics, like who is going to sleep on the floor when they’re forced into one hotel room during a hunt, or, how to tell Dean that he is hurting your feelings when he says certain things, or, how to give a human a Valentine’s Day card and not make them feel awkward because they do not feel the same way.

These are all problems Castiel faces currently, sitting in the empty bathtub belonging to their hotel room in their latest hunt’s location, Salina. It’s dusty, but there was nowhere else for him to go in proximity to the hotel where he wouldn’t feel out of place, and it’s very cold outside. When he’d asked if he could sleep in the bed, with Dean perhaps, just rest because he was still feeling a bit weak from a large expulsion of Grace on the last hunt, Dean had reacted rather adversely. Sam always says Dean doesn’t really mean it when he snaps, that he’s just ‘being pissy because he’s mad and doesn’t know how to deal with it in a healthy way’, but Castiel’s Grace recoiled at his tone all the same.  

“Jesus, Cas, you ever heard of personal space? Quit fuckin’ asking to share every time we gotta stay in the same room.” Dean looked perhaps a little bit guilty by the end of the outburst, but it didn’t prevent him from throwing his duffle bag down on one of the beds in a huff afterwards.

Castiel had stood very still, like a prey in the sights of its predator. Luckily, Sam had decided to defend him where he lacked the finesse to respond himself. “Dude. You don’t have to be such an asshole to him.” Sam had turned to him, those big eyes looking apologetic enough for both him _and_ his brother, but Castiel waved him off and sought refuge in the bathroom.

He can hear them arguing outside, and he feels guilty for being the cause. In fact, there is no reason for him to sleep at all. His Grace is back in mostly working order now, but he could think of no other excuse to give to Dean as to why he wanted to share a bed. Castiel likes sleeping near Dean, is all. It’s very intimate, vulnerable, for both of them. A resting soul is not the same as one that is wide awake, and Dean would never sleep near anyone he doesn’t trust.

Castiel stays in the bathtub until the arguing dies down, until he can hear them putting on their sleepwear, climbing into bed, mumbling goodnight. He stays until someone’s fist pounds on the door the next morning with gruff “Gotta piss, dude,” at which point he clambers out of the tub and switches spots with a sleep-rumpled Dean.  _Soft_ , Castiel thinks, just a little bit, and allows himself a few more moments of indulgence before Dean narrows his eyes and Castiel is forced to let Dean shut the bathroom door.

He makes his way over to Sam, who is fully dressed and sitting at the room’s sole table with his laptop. “Hey, Cas,” he says distractedly. The webpage is pulled up on a rather gruesome crime scene photo of a naked human torso, missing all four of its limbs. The skin around the shoulders and hips is bruised a dark violet and all end in jagged ends and torn muscle. “Bad, right?” Sam cringes. “I was thinking werewolf for a second, but the torso itself is practically untouched. Plus, I doubt any self-respecting werecreature is going to shoot for this level of violence.” It’s disturbingly familiar.

Castiel drops into the other chair and scoots it closer to Sam. “This is the victim of a Maenad.” Sam perks up at the mention.

“Like.. a greek Maenad?” Castiel nods and clicks to the next photo on the computer. This one is of the limbs themselves, starkly red and strewed out over the snow. There are more bruises, in the shape of long, slender hands, that mar the biceps and upper thighs. “Holy shit,” Sam says, not unreasonably. The Maenads  _were_ known for this type of vicious, blunt violence, forced by Dionysius to ritualistically rip villagers limb from limb in order to survive. Castiel had watched a Maenad ritual once, though not closely, showed to him by Gabriel as an example of how not to treat devout humans.

“Their worship is often nonconsensual, though there is much debate over whether the first Maenad was born or made.” Castiel goes on to the next photo, a circle of bloody footprints, the same path tread over and over and over.

Sam is practically vibrating, despite the photos. “That’s from the, the dancing, right?” and Castiel levels him with the most judgmental look he can conjure. It makes Sam wither, but only a bit. Castiel hears the shower turn off.

“Yes. They do employ a lot of.. movement, in these rituals. Gabriel showed me one, once. I admit that I might’ve not been paying the most attention, but I remember clearly that the dance seemed to be a rather large part.” Castiel cringes at the memory. “The dance and the, um,  _ripping_ , as it were.” Sam looks a little more appropriately disgusted now.

Castiel hears the bathroom door open, feels the rush of steam, but doesn’t allow himself to look over until he’s sure Dean’s had enough time to put pants on, at least. “How much research are we looking at, here?” he asks, and the thread of irritation in his voice from last night is gone. Castiel feels something in him sigh in relief.

“None,” Sam says. “It’s a Maenad.”

Dean halts in buttoning up his shirt to stare at them. “Like the greek kind?” Castiel bites the inside of his cheek, though this time it’s to stop a smile.

“Yes, Dean. There is just the one ‘kind’.” A huffed laugh, and then Dean is done with his shirt and coming over to look at the photos. He cringes in disgust.

“Damn, that’s brutal. How do we kill her?” Dean asks, and this is the question Castiel has been dreading.

“I’m.. not sure it’s possible.” Castiel frowns. “Gabriel might’ve known, but..” Gabriel is dead, and  Castiel had always been too busy being a good little seraph to pay much attention to other religions’ deities. “There are a few non-lethal options, however. We could attempt to contact Dionysus himself, ask him to return her to the appropriate time, but he can be rather fickle.”

“Wait,” Sam interrupts. “Return her to the appropriate time? She’s been displaced?”

Castiel nods “I think so. All of the.. chaos these past few years, for lack of a better term, has probably disturbed what was already not very stable to begin with. It isn’t out of the realm of possibility that some beings have been moved from where they are supposed to be.”

He looks over. Dean’s eyelashes are thick, and dark, and miniscule droplets of water cling to them like flower bulbs to their stalks, like those plastic hearts did on the pipe cleaners. Castiel watches one make its way onto his cheek, bypass a freckle, and drop off his face onto his shirt. Castiel wants his mouth on Dean’s skin, viscerally.

“-still be killing people. Cas?” Dean is speaking to him.

Castiel manages to grunt a “Yeahuh?” Dean rolls his eyes.

“Even if we send her back, she’d still be killing people, right? Just. In ancient Greece.”

“Yes, she would.” He hums. “The other option would simply be to convince her to stop. There are Maenads that are non murderous, though they are rare. In order to defeat Dionysus’ hold on them, one’s soul has to reach complete equilibrium with nature.” At Dean’s raised eyebrow, Castiel huffs. “I’m aware that this may sound silly to you two, but there is not a more powerful being on Earth than the earth itself.”

“No, Cas, we get it.” Sam glares at Dean over his shoulder. “It makes sense, what with how much the greeks loved their nature and all that. So, how do we find her? And not get torn limb from limb?”

Castiel honestly isn’t sure, and he says so. This is met with Dean’s insistence that they eat breakfast before starting, anyway, except Sam wants to go to the library in case there’s anything that can help with finding the Maenad, to which Dean replies ‘I think you have a problem, Sammy’, before he ushers them both into the Impala, muttering under his breath all the while.

*“You said no research, Cas.” Dean spears a piece of waffle on his fork and points it toward Castiel accusingly. “You  _promised._ ”

Castiel did no such thing, but he refrains from pointing this out. “It’s not as if you’re the one having to do it, Dean.”

Dean shoves the piece of waffle in his mouth and chews aggressively. There’s syrup on his bottom lip. “Yeah, well.”

A beat. “Dean,” Castiel says, almost against his will. “Did you know that Valentine’s day is tomorrow?”

Dean snorts. “Nah. Who the hell keeps track of holidays around here anyway?”

“I do.”

He waves his hand. “Well duh, ‘cause of the angel thing. But intentionally knowing what day of the month it is?” Dean shakes his head. “I haven’t played that game in awhile.” Thoughtfully, he asks, “Why do you mention it?”

_I have carnal and perhaps even emotional feelings toward you and I would like to give you this card I’ve been carrying around with me because, despite its simplicity, I believe it would convey to you my feelings better than I possibly could in human terms._

“Maenads are creatures of violence, yes, but also of sexuality. It’s possible that the holiday being so near will influence her patterns.” Castiel feels unhinged.

Dean has finished his waffles and moved on to Castiel’s. “I thought Valentine’s Day was just some corporate shtick to get people to buy shit?”

Castiel shrugs. “Sure, now it is, but there is mythology behind the day. The ancient Greeks had Eros, who fulfilled the same role as the Cherubim do, though granted Dionysus is more lustful than loving.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Regardless, she’ll likely kill again soon. Tonight, even, seeing as-”

“Tomorrow is Valentine’s day, right, got it.” Castiel allows himself a smile cast in Dean’s direction.

"Yes. Do you remember Beth, and her father?”

Dean frowns at the subject change. “Beth?”

“We didn’t actually meet her,” Castiel explains patiently, “just her father, the gas station employee.” Realization dawns on Dean’s face, and it softens his features. He leans back in the booth and his body is open, welcoming. Castiel wants to climb inside him.

“Yeah, with the cards. I meant to ask you about that.” Dean smiles but it’s lecherous, and he stiffens back up, just a bit. “You got a special gal around here somewhere to give it to?”

He is so embarrassingly easy to play that Castiel seriously considers lying, but vetoes it at the last minute and shakes his head, instead. Such a lie may be counterintuitive in the long run, and Castiel does not truly wish to manipulate. Dean relaxes again at this, and Castiel hesitates to let himself wonder what that means.

Plainly, Castiel states, “I would like to go back sometime and see if she earned enough money for her bicycle.”

There is no immediate reaction from Dean aside from a twitch in his microexpression near the corner of his left lip. Then, “Yeah, Cas. We can do that.”

*

The search for the Maenad begins as soon as they leave the diner. Castiel insists they drive to the crime scene out in the sparse woodland on the outskirts of town, just in case she left any hint of where she’s taking shelter. Salina isn’t large, certainly not as large as Lawrence, but it’s wide enough that the drive takes over half an hour. By time they’ve found, and then hiked to, the area where the ritual was completed Castiel has forced himself not to touch Dean fifty six times.

Angels are not tactile beings, not in the way humans are. They may dance, occasionally, with a brother or sister’s Grace; there were even certain bonds in Heaven one could make, an exchange of said Grace that lasts for eternity. Yet here, spending time with Dean and his brother, Castiel finds himself reaching out to touch more than he even realizes. Dean is so  _present_ , so  _physical_ and  _here, now_ and his soul so  _bright_ , like a beacon. Castiel wants to touch, to feel the reality of him, and the strength it requires to not simply  _take_ is monumental. Seraphim are brute forces of nature, unused to being restrained, but Castiel knows that Dean does not always like to be touched, to be spoken to. The last thing he would want to do is jeopardize what he’s managed to build.

“Well,” Dean says once they’ve reached the spot the woman was killed. “At least someone got all the body parts out of here.” He pulls on a pair of latex gloves and begins sifting through the snow. Castiel swallows thickly at the sight of that soul against so much blood. He feels hot despite the weather, and he can’t tear his eyes away from Dean’s throat where it peaks out above his collar.

He coughs. “Yes, the smell would be quite unpleasant by now.”

Dean looks at him oddly. “That’s awfully morbid of you, Cas.”

“It’s a morbid case.” Dean shrugs.

“I s’pose.” He pokes at the snow a few more times and Castiel watches, entranced. “You gettin’ anything?” Any displaced creature leaves traces of energy from their own time, or dimension, with which an angel’s Grace is typically able to feel and communicate. Despite the state that Castiel finds himself in there is nothing more supernatural than what is left behind by the soul of the Maenads victim, and he tells Dean as such. He huffs in response.

“Nothing interesting in this blood either, not sure what I expected.” He stands and peels the gloves off, shoves them in his coat pocket. “Any ideas?”

Castiel has none. There is no way the Maenad is hiding somewhere in the wood; it’s not nearly dense enough to contain any caves or hidey-holes, and the land surrounding it is completely flat. “Not yet. I don’t know if she’d brave civilization when it’s so different from where she came, but she’s undoubtedly not around here.” At this, Dean heaves a great sigh and fishes the keys to the Impala out of his coat. “Perhaps Sam has found something?”

“Yeah,” Dean says as they trudge back to the car. “Might as well check, I guess. Hey,” he says, stopping so abruptly Castiel nearly knocks into him. “I know you said there was nothin’ from the Maenad, but, uh. You feel that?”

Castiel  _has_ felt off-balance since they arrived, but he’d assumed it was due to Dean’s proximity. “Feel what?”

“I dunno,” Dean says, glancing at him. “Antsy. Like there’s something you’re craving but you don’t know what?” Castiel is craving something, all right, but he knows exactly what it is. The enhancement of the feeling could be a side effect of the Maenads presence in the area, residual energy from the ritual.

“I am unsure of any aspect of a Maenads nature that would lead to that feeling,” Castiel starts. Typically they were known for sentiments such as devotion, madness, and.

 _Sexuality_. Oh.

Dean has begun to perspire, and Castiel hard-swallows. “I think I know what you’re craving, Dean.” This comes out much more..  _provocative_ then he intends it to be, but he finds himself unable to rephrase.   
  
Dean raises an eyebrow, though something in his expression is distinctly uncomfortable. “Oh? And what’s that?” He’s begun to lead them back to the Impala, likely trying to escape the discomfort somehow.

“Copulation,” Castiel says as they climb into the car. Dean sputters. “As I said, the Maenads are.. creatures of lust, just like Dionysus. It’s possible she has succubus-like effects on whoever is in her presence.”

“Great!” Dean says, loudly. “Perfect. Amazing.” His face is turning red, now, and he shifts awkwardly in his seat. “How do I fix it?” Castiel feels his own face begin to burn.

Dean is aroused, and a mere foot away from him, and he is blushing. Castiel can only handle so much.

“You know what succubi do, Dean. You must have sex to alleviate the symptoms, or they will continue to worsen until death.” Dean is groaning before the end of the sentence.

“What about you? Are you just an immune because of the,” he waves his hand, “angelic shit?”

Castiel certainly doesn’t  _feel_ immune. His face is hot, his collar too tight, his length stiffening up in his trousers. He coughs, indelicately. “I.. don’t believe that’s the case.” Dean’s eyes widen.

“Let’s get back to the hotel,” he says, and guns it.

*

Things become exponentially worse during the ride back, and by the time Dean is vomiting into the toilet and Castiel is sitting as still as he possibly can on the bed, the heavy scent of human arousal hangs around them like a cloud. Castiel had called Sam and explained the situation, delicately as he could, and to maybe steer clear of the room in case they were contagious somehow, of which Sam had no objections.

“The  _fuck_ ,” Dean says from the bathroom.

“I believe things will get worse the longer we remain, uh, celibate,” Castiel says, and instantly he feels incredibly guilty of his own arousal. It is immoral, to remind Dean, to coerce him, until he realizes that the only viable option to rid themselves of the issue is to have sex with Castiel himself. He still hasn’t even given Dean the card, which  _must_ come first, in order to avoid misunderstanding, but now is not the time.

Dean drags himself out of the bathroom and flops down on his back next to Castiel, who remains unmoving, as if he is a rabbit and there’s a hawk eyeing him as prey. Something like that.

“What do we do?” There’s a bead of sweat sliding down his hairline. His pupils are very dilated, and his heart rate is elevated, and there is a sizable bulge in his jeans. Castiel’s mouth waters.

“You could go into town and find a woman to help alleviate the curse,” Castiel suggests, though not without a great deal of reluctance. Dean is looking at Castiel like he wants to be consumed, or do the consuming, he can’t quite tell. Castiel is beginning to like the feeling of being something small and hunted after, and his Grace is humming in proximity to Dean’s soul.

Dean doesn’t answer. Instead, he inches closer to Castiel until his nose is pressed right up against Castiel’s thigh, which twitches. His Grace purrs. He is immensely glad humans cannot sense such things, because he would never, ever hear the end of it. “Or,” Dean says against the cloth of Castiel’s pants, “ _we_ could alleviate it. Together. Two birds one stone kinda thing, you know?”

The suggestion makes Castiel’s groin throb. “Uh,” he says intelligently, and he is beginning to lose sight of why he hadn’t considered this in the first place. It’s so  _perfect_ , this plan; Castiel gets to have Dean, rather than some faceless, nameless woman who has never seen his soul or rescued him from Hell, gets to touch him and maybe even  _mark_ him, Father. “Yes,” he breathes, and reaches down a shaky hand to run over Dean’s hair.

Abruptly, Dean sits up. Castiel startles away, but Dean steadies him with a hand on his waist. Then, he gets close, and breathes right in Castiel’s ear, “Lemme fuck your face, Cas _,_ ” and it’s all over. All semblance of rationality or guilt or hesitation fly out of his brain right with Castiel as he slides off the bed and onto the hotel floor in between Dean’s spread legs.

There’s too many clothes, and Castiel paws at Dean’s pants until they’re off and his length is right  _there_ , hot and heavy and musky right in front of Castiel to be as greedy with as he pleases.

Castiel takes Dean into his mouth very slowly, lets it get wet and slick where they’re joined. He stops when Dean’s cock hits the back of his throat and his nose is touching Dean’s belly, allows himself a few deep inhales there, and then sets a torturously slow pace. “Jesus, Cas,” Dean grunts. “Fuck.”

Castiel looks up at him. Dean’s cock in his mouth is warm, velvety smooth and wet. He didn’t—no one had bothered to tell Castiel he would enjoy this so much, despite how he’s aching and deprived in his trousers. He reaches a hand down to press against himself, sighs around Dean in relief. The hot air around his slit makes Dean jump and gasp and grunt.

“Cas,” he says, “Castiel.”

The way Dean says his name in full makes blood rush between his legs. Dean’s hands come to land in Castiel’s hair and make their home there, just this side of ungentle. He starts to move his hips, slowly at first, until Castiel has conceded the reins completely and Dean is shoving himself so far down Castiel’s throat he’d gag if he were human. He swallows best he can, lets himself look up at Dean through his eyelashes like how he’s seen women do in the pornography Dean sometimes accidentally leaves open on the laptop.

Dean swears lowly and shoots into Castiel’s mouth, down his throat, hot and thick. He swallows all of it down best he can, aware in the back of his mind that the taste is less than desirable but the Maenads’ hormones or energy or whatever it is translates the hot wet heat to nothing but good.

Castiel feels a plaintive whine leave his throat and Dean tugs him up by his hair and fumbles at the fly of his trousers. “Come on, Cas,” he says rough and desperate, and Castiel lets Dean pull him out of his pants and stroke him until he’s spilling over Dean’s knuckles. Dean collapses back on the bed, pulling Castiel with him so they’re lying somewhat side-by-side, Dean’s shoulder poking into Castiel’s skull.

Castiel feels Dean sink into sleep next to him and, against his will, follows.

*

Sam informs them there’s been another murder when he finally returns to the hotel that evening. They try the Federal Agent angle to glean information about where the Maenad may be hiding, but the Sheriff assures them there were no witnesses to the crime and the second body was a mere mile away from the first.

Dean was gone when Castiel woke up and now he is unwilling to look him in the eye. The card burns a hole in Castiel’s coat pocket.

“Shit,” Sam says when they’ve made the hike out to the body. The wind is dry and harsh and makes tears prick at the corners of Castiel’s eyes. “This is worst than the last one.”

This time the body belongs to a young man, his skin pale and grey where it isn’t mottled with dark bruises. There are small half-moon gouges where the Maenads nails dug into flesh on all four of the joints, but the worst part by far are the teeth marks. The body is covered in them, places where the Maenad bit down with all her might but without any sort of intent other than to maim. It is, undoubtedly, worse than the last one.

“Cas,” Dean says, and Castiel would be happy for being acknowledged except there’s warning in his tone. “Is.. what happened earlier gonna happen again?”

Sam looks between them and his eyes narrow. “No,” Castiel says. “The ritual was not completed.”   
  
“No tracks,” Sam says. Castiel nods at him. “Was she interrupted?”

“Likely by another human. Maenads won’t kill those they haven’t already set their sights upon.”

Dean is frowning. “Hold up,” he says. “The sheriff told us there were no witnesses. If someone came across a murder wouldn’t they report it?” Sam starts to shake his head before Dean’s finished.

“That’s why they didn’t find the body until now.” The victim must have been murdered right after Dean and Castiel left the other crime scene, which means it’s possible they were having sex during the Maenads attempt at another ritual.

Dean must come to a similar conclusion, because he pales drastically and sends Castiel a glance he can only interpret is one of guilt. “She’s going to kill again tonight,” Castiel says, “since this ritual wasn’t finished.” 

“So what the hell do we do? Stake out the entirety of the forest?” Dean is agitated now, pacing in the snow. Sam gives Castiel one of his Looks. Castiel sends a Look back that hopefully conveys his desire to shelve whatever suspicions Sam has until later.

“That may be the only option,” Castiel admits.

Sam pulls out his phone. “Uhh, hold on a second.” He taps around for a moment. “So I noted that this strip of woods is about 4 miles long, and the first victim was about a mile east from here, so that’s only, like a 2 mile radius? She hasn’t touched the north and south sides yet.”

Dean seems calmer now for having a plan. “Alright then, you and I’ll go north and Cas can go south.” Sam shakes his head. “No way, man. If that thing comes after you without Cas around you’re toast. I’ll go north by myself and you and Cas can cover the south side.” Castiel gets the distinct feeling that Sam insisting he and Dean go together is intentional, but he stays quiet.

Dean huffs, but ultimately breaks. “Fine, but we’re taking the car. Come on, Cas.”

The drive to the other side of the forest is quiet, and what a human would probably describe as ‘awkward’. Castiel has a feeling that there is something he should say in such a situation, but what exactly that is eludes him.  

Dean doesn’t seem to have the same problem. “I’m not queer,” he says into the air.

“Okay.”

“I mean,” he exhales loudly through his nose, nostrils flaring. “You’re the only dude I’ve ever done that with, okay? And liked,” he adds, as if he doesn’t want Castiel to hear. He graciously does not comment.

“I see.” He doesn’t understand, not really, but most everything he knows about human sexuality has come from Gabriel, Balthazar and pornography, so it’s likely there are some cues he’s missing in that regard.

“And it was nonconsensual,” Dean continues. 

Alarmed, Castiel looks over at him. “I apologize if you felt taken advantage of, Dean, I-”  
  
“No, dumbass,” Dean interrupts, looking embarrassed. “It wasn’t consensual for either of us. ‘Cause of the Maenad, I mean.” Under his breath, “I started it, anyway.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Dean doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Castiel.

*

The Maenad never appears. Castiel and Dean sit in the Impala for near six hours, until the moon is high in the sky and Sam returns, shivering and admitting defeat. “You sure you aren’t getting anything, Cas?” He asks through chattering teeth.

“I am sure.”

“We would’ve heard if there was a commotion, right?” Dean adds. “It’s been dead silent over here.”  
  
Sam shakes his head “Yeah, I didn’t hear anything either.”

“Either way,” Dean says, starting up the car, “we can’t stay out here all goddamn night. It’s fuckin’ freezing in here.” 

“What if she kills someone and we aren't around to stop it?” Sam protests. “We don’t even know her endgame, here. What if a third body like, summons Dionysus to wreak havoc or something?”  
  
“The rituals are sacrifices,” Castiel interjects, “there is no real ‘endgame’ for them. She will continue to kill until we stop her.”  

“Like instinct,” Dean says.

“Precisely.”

“Wait,” Sam says. “She was interrupted, which means there  _is_ a witness, which means there’s someone who might have an idea of where she ran off to.” It’s slim, the chances of whoever interrupted her sticking around long enough to give them directions as to where she may of gone, but Castiel is at a loss.

Dean huffs. “Sure, but we have no way to track them down.” He turns into the motel parking lot and kills the Impala’s engine. “Are we sure she’s not gonna kill anyone else tonight?”

“No,” Castiel says. “But there is little else we can do. We should revisit the families of the victims tomorrow and ask if they perhaps know of anyone who frequents the area the bodies were found.”  
  
“So tonight we just go to sleep? Hope she doesn’t do shit else?” Dean shoves open the door to their room and flicks on the light.

The most noticeable thing is the smell. The air is thick with it, iron-y like human blood, earthy, rotting. The source is a woman, sitting cross-legged on Sam’s bed.

“You’re the hunters?” She asks, and Dean sputters.

Sam, with eyebrows raised, replies “We are.” She nods to herself and stands. The movement produces a wave of the smell that rolls toward Castiel in a putrid wave. He secretly thanks whoever was responsible for not giving Jimmy Novak a gag reflex.

“You are hunting my sister.” She says, and steps forward. Dean looks as if he isn’t sure whether to be defensive and Sam still stands with an expression of disbelief. She is a sight, in tattered and dirty white cloth that provides little modesty, her thick, curly hair and wide eyes in stark contrast. “I wish to provide you with an alternative to killing her.”

“We weren’t gonna kill her,” Dean says, and he looks more relaxed now, if only marginally.

“You’re a Maenad?” Sam asks. She nods and turns around so she is once again facing the bed, smooths one hand along the cheap bedspread. Her nails end in sharp, curved points. “So you’ve.. achieved equilibrium with nature?”

Another nod. “My sister and I were in the midst of a ceremony for Him when there was a great noise, and light, and we found ourselves here.”

“And He is Dionysus?” Sam interrupts. The Maenad whips her head around and rises quickly to her feet in one movement.

She hisses, “ _The disrespect,”_ and Castiel moves to stand between them.

“Taking a deity’s name in vain to one of their followers is akin to saying Father’s to one of my siblings,” he explains, and he can  _feel_ Dean roll his eyes behind him; mercifully, he stays silent.

“ _Your_ name?” Castiel asks, and she seems to calm. She moves away from them yet again, and returns to sit on the bed.

“I am Cybele,” She says. “You search for Vega. Yet we do not use these names.”

Tentatively, Sam moves closer to her “You’re His Maenads,” he says. She nods again.

“My sister and I thought to call upon Him for help. After the first ceremony, He explained to us that we must adapt. He can do nothing for us.” The more she speaks, the softer her voice becomes, until she is practically whispering from her spot on the bed.  _She just wants to go home_ , Castiel thinks, unbidden. He is familiar with the feeling.

Sam seems to understand, as well, and Castiel can feel Dean relax beside him. “She did not believe Him. She insisted that if we killed more, danced more, sang more, He would take mercy on us and return us back home.” Anger seeps into her tone. “My other sisters left after that, but I stayed with Vega. She was scared, and I was convinced I could make her see reason.

“I do not enjoy the killing,” Cybele says. Her eyes are hard but sincere, and Castiel knows she is telling the truth. “The first was necessary, to see if we could find a way home. The boy from earlier today.. That was not supposed to happen.”

“You’re the witness,” Dean realizes. “You stopped her from completing it, right?”

Cybele breaks his gaze. “I did,” she says. “It was wrong of me to do so, but wronger still for her to kill against His wishes.” Dean nods as if this suffices. Castiel finds himself at a loss, here, as to the predictability of Dean’s behavior. In any other circumstance such as this one he’d be spitting with that Righteous hunter fury he always seems to have. What did the Maenads’ lives matter over the humans’? Yet he is understanding, empathetic, even, to Cybele’s plight.

Castiel doesn’t see how he’s supposed to keep up with it all.

“We must find her,” Cybele says. “She will continue to kill unless we force her to stop.” She stands again, and makes her way over until she is once more standing in front of Dean and Castiel. She taps her temple with one finger. “I have the steps, in here. Vega will be resistant, and it will require much power to keep her in place.” Dean nudges Castiel in the ribs.

“Cas here can help. He’s, uh,” Dean falters, flushes, “pretty strong.” Castiel feels like he’s missed something, but Cybele looks between them shrewdly.

“You two were affected by my sister’s ceremony,” she says, and Dean cringes. Castiel feels Sam staring at them but keeps his eyes fixed firmly on Cybele. “I can smell it on the both of you.”

“Supplies,” Dean blurts. “What do we need for, uh, supplies. For the ritual.” He scratches the back of his neck. Castiel feels himself flush. 

“Smell what?” Sam says suspiciously, approaching them. “What effect?” Cybele eyes are amused.

“We will need no more than a live rabbit, my own blood, and a sturdy tree to tie Vega against.” To Sam, she replies, “Aphrodite aids in our creation, and thus some of her characteristics are present in our rituals.”

Sam makes a choking noise. “You guys were hit with an  _aphrodisiac?_ Why didn’t it get me? Why didn’t you  _tell_ me?”

“Uh,” Dean stutters, “I don’t think you’d, uh, wanna hear about it.” Sam wrinkles his nose. 

“Where are we going to get a live rabbit?” Castiel wonders, loudly. “Most of them are surely burrowed by now.”

Cybele regards the entire exchange with that shrewd look that spoke of only very  _slight_ amusement. Castiel is sure this is how the Winchesters saw him, once upon a time. “If it did not affect you, it was because there was no one around you wished to join with.” Judging by Sam’s guilty look, Castiel gets the sense that he should feel offended.

“There’s a pet store,” Sam says, as if Cybele hadn’t spoken.

“At this time of night? No way—” Dean cuts himself off. Sam raises an eyebrow.

“Losing your touch, there, Dean?”

“Shuddup,” Dean replies. “So we break into the pet store, get a bunny, and then what? Where the hell are we gonna start looking for Vega?”

Cybele sighs. “I know where she is. We are connected.” Sam looks alarmed.

“Does this mean she knows where we are, too?”  
  
“Yes,” Cybele says. “But we are in no danger. She knows only that I remain resistant to her idea. As far as I am aware, she does not know I have found hunters.”   
  
“How  _did_ you find us, anyway?” Dean asks. Cybele shrugs—a strangely humanizing gesture.

“I saw you two,” she gestures to Dean and Castiel, “at the site of our first ceremony. I heard you speak our Name.”

“How did we not see you?” Castiel wonders.

“A gift He gives us, to become unseen.”

Dean huffs. “They can turn fucking invisible,” he grumbles, though it seems more out of jealousy than maliciousness.

“We are wasting time, Cybele says suddenly, something in her expression changing, and shoves past Castiel to get out the door. “We must find rope, as well, and a dagger.”   
  
“We have those,” Sam says, “in the trunk.” Cybele nods as she and Castiel climb into the backseat of the Impala.

Sam navigates them to the local pet store, right off Main street. The ride there is nearly silent save for Sam directing Dean to turn every so often, yet full. Seraphim’s empath skills are no better than the lowest of angel, and certainly not on par with an Archangel’s, but Castiel feels the rolling waves of sorrow coming from Cybele’s soul all the same. They’re strong, and leave a distinctly salty note in the air, undercutting the Maenadic sickly-sweet Earth smell.

Her story is distinctly tragic, and Castiel wonders how many other beings have been displaced over the Winchester’s run of tampering with powerful forces of nature.

“Okay,” Dean says as they pull up to the pet store. “Cas, you good with zappin’ in, stealing a bunny, and getting back out here?” Castiel gives him nothing in response but a Look, and Dean nods. “Good talk.”

The pet store is dark when Castiel arrives. The rodents erupt into chirps but only a few actually leave their nests. The ferrets, when he passes, say nothing, and only one bird squawks, loudly and angrily. He shushes them all in apology.

Though Cybele has not directly referred to what is going to happen to this rabbit, Castiel has a fair guess in mind. The rabbits in their cages are silent, unmoving, like they know what’s about to happen. Castiel feels tears prick the corners of his eyes.

This is  _silly._ He quickly scoops up a black rabbit, tucks it into his the crook of his arm and walks back out to the front of the shop.

The Impala is gone.

*

By the time Castiel has traversed all the wood in Salina he can find, the rabbit has awoken and is furiously trying to escape his grasp. Castiel tries his best to calm it but it must read his intentions somehow and frantically kicks its legs against his torso to try and get free.

There is no way he can let this creature die, he realizes. Though with the way things are going, he’d be surprised if Cybele’s intentions for the ritual are at all aligned with what she claimed.

Finally, Castiel hears a struggle in the darkness ahead. He gives the rabbit one pulse of Grace, just to calm it, and moves toward the sounds as quietly as he is able. He can feel the low hum of the ritual magic in the air, see the flickering light of a bonfire hiding behind a tree and its smoke licking into the air. Below that, Dean’s muffled curses and Sam’s grunts of exertion, and rapid footsteps.

Castiel tucks the rabbit as best he can into his coat, near the card, both shielded by his Grace, and steps forward. Across from the bonfire, footprints appear in the snow in rapid circles as the Maenads dance. Sam and Dean are in the middle of the circle, both gagged and tied, laying on the ground, and the sight of  _Dean_ like that makes Castiel feel like a Seraph again.

The dancing does not cease but all at once the Maenads are in plain sight again. They call to Castiel, angrily, and Dean and Sam strain their heads to look at him. “Cybele,” Castiel says. Her hair is wild, backlight by flame, and her eyes black. She casts her gaze on him, but there is none of the sorrow from before. Only madness, and frenzy. Castiel resists the human urge to swallow.

“This isn’t necessary,” he calls to her. “You can adjust to this life.”

She hisses. “How would you  _know_? Removed from all you hold dear.  _Betrayed_ by Him. You do not know.”

“I do,” Castiel says, stepping closer. “My Father left my siblings and I, too. I’m stuck here, somewhere I do not belong, just like you.” Castiel ignores Dean’s indignant shout at that. “It becomes easier, with time.” She does not stop, but she does slow.

Vega, who had done nothing apart from dance and regard Castiel with the coldest pair of eyes he feels he’s ever seen, hisses. She is taller than Cybele, and clearly stronger; the brunt of the magic emanates from her prints and rises to hang thick in the air. “You musn’t listen, sister,” she goads, and speeds where Cybele has slowed. “These ones are powerful. They will gain His favor enough for Him to send us back.” Cybele looks between Vega and Castiel warily. Castiel feels his blade come to fill his palm. There is no guarantee it will be able to kill either of them, especially not Vega, but it is something.

“You must listen, Cybele,” Castiel says, coming closer so his shoes are barely breaching the ring of footprints. “He was not lying when he said He could not return you. He does not have that kind of power.”

  
“  _He lies!”_ Vega stops in her dancing and uses her foot to roll Sam over to his back, bracing it on his chest and bending down to grab his arm. Castiel steps into the ring.

Cybele is frozen in place at the scene. The magic dulls with every moment the Maenads are still, prompting Vega to hiss  _“Continue!”_ In Cybele’s direction. Vega begins to tug at Sam’s arm. Something pops, Sam screams behind his gag, and Castiel lunges forward with his blade in hand. It finds its home in Vega’s arm and lodges deep and she  _screams_ , a sound worse than any Castiel has heard with these ears so far. Vega lets go of Sam to throw herself at Castiel, who brings the blade up just in time to block those claws.

“ _Cybele_ ,” Vega shrieks, and yanks the blade away from Castiel’s grasp. He angles his body away so the next blow hits him on the side of his chest opposite from where the rabbit and the card are taking shelter, and they fall down into the snow.

Vega straddles him and pins him to the ground by his throat, breathes hot, vile breath into Castiel’s face. “ _Dirty nymph,”_ she spits.  _“He’d scoff at the sight of you, you fragile little thing. So easily taken advantage of—”_

She chokes, violently, and her grip slackens. A wet, sticky glob of blood flows out her mouth to land on Castiel’s coat and she pitches sideways. Behind her stands Cebele, wielding the demon blade from the trunk.

“I just wanted to return to my time,” she says.

Castiel nods and accepts her hand up. “I understand.”

*

They don’t make it back to the motel until almost 3 in the morning. They check Cybele into the room next door and Sam takes the first shower.

They all have battle wounds; Castiel still feels the hot points of Vega’s nails digging into his throat, though they’re long since healed. After he untucks the rabbit from his coat and gives it free reign of Dean’s bed he inspects Dean’s wounds carefully.

He’s been oddly silent since they left the ritual site, contemplative. He bears no worse injuries than bruised wrists, ankles and a single bruised rib, and Castiel heals them all with a soft touch to each location.

The earlier aphrodisiacal effect of the ritual has subsided but Castiel still flushes when he touches Dean. He still  _wants_ to touch Dean, desperately.

“Did you, uh,” Dean starts, and stops abruptly. Castiel waits patiently. “Did you mean that shit you said? About not belonging. Here. With us.” Dean gulps.

Castiel hums. “No. I was lying to make my story and hers comparable so that she would find me trustworthy.” Dean relaxes at this. Castiel doesn’t tell him that he didn’t think it was a lie while he was saying it. “Dean.” He says.

“Yeah?”  
  
Castiel pulls the card, mercifully undamaged, from the inner pocket of his trenchcoat. “It’s Valentine’s Day.” His hand should absolutely not be shaking. He is in control of every single nerve ending in this body, his hand should definitely not be shaking.

Dean smiles, wide. “Oh yeah? I’m your secret gal, huh?” He looks like he regrets it immediately after, and clears his throat loudly as he opens the card. “I have carnal and perhaps even emotional feelings toward you and..” He reads the rest in silence. Castiel’s heart pounds.

“Cas.” Dean says. At some point, Castiel’s eyes closed. “Castiel.” That lets him know it’s serious. “Look at me, dumbass.”  
  
“I like you too,” Dean says seriously. “I’m sorry I was such a fuckin’.. dick about it. I thought there’d be nothing worse if I tried to get with you right after we were forced to have sex so I just. Didn’t even try.” Castiel gives him a Look.

“So you are.. queer?” Dean huffs.

“No, I dunno. Can we save the other epiphanies for later? Until we’ve had some time to digest this one, I mean.” Castiel acquiesces with a nod. Then, very delicately, he takes Dean’s face into both hands and kisses him thoroughly.

  
One corner of the card ends up as rabbit food, but Castiel thinks it’s still beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> whew, folks. started this the day before valentine's day and am only one (1) month late. this clocks in as my longest fic ever written, so i appreciate much anyone who reads and/or enjoys this beast.  
> [tumblr](https://vrsnufffilm.tumblr.com/)


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